


He Ain't No Chick

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Easter, First Time, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Easter, and Major Crime is roped in to help at  the Mayor's annual Easter egg hunt </p><p>Originally published in 2000, revised in 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Ain't No Chick

 

 

  


He Ain't No Chick by Alyjude

 

The shopper perused the glass case, eyes raking over the colorful contents. The clerk followed patiently, even happily, as discernible shoppers were a delight to serve. Finally his customer stopped and began to tap the glass. "I'll take that; two please, and two of those…and a dozen of those and…two of these; one in pink, the other in purple."

The clerk took each indicated item as targeted, dropped it into the distinctive shoppers basket hanging from his arm even as he mentally calculated the growing amount. The more items dropped into the basket, the wider his smile.

When finished, he tallied up the total on the cash register and, while his customer took out a credit card, the clerk smiled and asked, "For your children?"

With a Mona Lisa smile, the customer said, "You could say that."

***

Jim stalked into the bullpen, lips clamped shut, eyes looking neither right nor left, body tighter than a spring. He ignored the detectives who recognized his mood and cringed as he walked by, as well as how the newer detectives were quickly told to shut up and mind their own business when they started to question his mood.

When he reached his desk, he yanked off his jacket, threw it carelessly across the back of the chair and, with a snarl, dropped into his seat - and froze.

Sitting in the middle of his desk sat a small, clear plastic bag filled with at least a dozen colorfully foil-wrapped Godiva Easter Eggs. The bag was tied at the top with a shiny yellow ribbon - and attached to that was a small card. His bad mood was bumped aside by curiosity as he pulled the bag toward him, took the card, and read:

**Hi**

Frowning, he thought, "Hi"? Just…hi? In spite of the strange…and certainly cryptic message…his surly expression slowly melted as he untied the ribbon, reached inside and plucked out an egg. With growing anticipation, he unwrapped the foil, following each crease, careful not to tear…and when the chocolate morsel was finally revealed, plopped it into his mouth.

Oh, yeah.

Better than sex.

Well, better than the sex he'd been having lately, as in - none.

He let the egg roll around in his mouth, the velvety sweetness melting and coating his tongue. Blissfully, he closed his eyes.

"Morning, Jim."

And immediately popped them open to look up at the person who'd interrupted his love affair with the Godiva egg. But not even the slightly disheveled appearance of his partner could jostle him from his chocolate-infused wet dream.

He smiled benignly and, almost purring, said, "Morning."

Blair's eyes rested on the bag of eggs and one brow rose in question. Jim just shrugged and kept right on sucking.

Giving back a shrug as good as he'd received, Blair sat down at his desk and pointedly ignored both his partner and the chocolate. He'd had a miserable weekend helping a friend move only to be rewarded with a flat tire when returning the rented moving truck back into the city. God, he hated dead zones - those horrible spots where cell phones were useless. Hated them with a passion because, thanks to just one such zone, he'd ended up spending several cold hours in the truck until four am when someone had finally come along to help. As a result, he'd had no chance to shower or change before heading directly into the station - _before_ \- Jim. Now he felt grungy and, to top it off, Jim's current state of euphoria was depressing him. If he was miserable, damn it, Jim should be too.

He picked up a folder, flipped it carelessly across his desk so it slid onto Jim's and said grumpily, "Here's the Anderson file you wanted. I'm going downstairs and taking a shower."

Jim was about to snick another egg when the folder landed with a whoosh. He glanced up, clearly surprised by Blair's words.

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Blair hissed out, "You're a sentinel, for crying out loud. Surely you can tell I haven't showered today. Believe it or not, I've been here for over an hour. On Friday, you said you needed this folder first thing, right? Well, here it is. And you owe me big. It was buried deep."

With that, he stood and walked out.

Jim stared after him.

Since when didn't Sandburg shower after a weekend with some woman?

Jim's gloomy gus persona reasserted itself as he was reminded of the cause for the sour mood to begin with, namely, an absent Blair Sandburg for an entire weekend.

He cursed rules and bargains and then promptly ate two more eggs.

***

At 9:15, Simon walked through the squad room, whistling and wearing one of his patented "I got lucky or I had cheesecake" smiles plastered on his face. He nodded here, gave a cheery greeting there, inquired after a sick three-year old over there and, after plucking his favorite Danish from the cart, walked happily into his office.

Jim watched him, thought about shooting him, but decided that shooting one's boss was poor etiquette so had another egg instead.

Simon shut the door behind him, turned on his coffee machine, took off his coat, hung it carefully on the coat tree in the corner, sat down and picked up the file on his desk.  
Another case solved and closed, thanks to the wonder team of Ellison-Sandburg. They'd cracked a huge case, garnering great publicity for the department and adding one more, "I told you so!" to the Commissioner's ever-growing collection.

It had been an uphill battle to get Sandburg accepted on the team after the whole press conference fiasco, but with every case solved, the naysayers dwindled.

Suddenly his phone buzzed and Rhonda's voice came over the intercom.

" _Simon, don't forget, you have a nine o'clock_."

Unruffled, he glanced at his watch, noted that he had over thirty minutes and continued to munch on his Danish, pour his now ready coffee and enjoy…until he frowned and thought, " _I have a nine o'clock appointment_?"

With a stirring of unease, he took his Franklin and flipped through to today's date: April 10, 2000.

His blood ran cold.

Shit.

Fuck.

April 17th. Six days before April 23rd. Which meant...Michael Binks.

His stomach curled, the Danish doing flip-flops.

Double shit, double fuck, double crap.

An appointment made a year ago and forgotten until now.

Then he smiled...an extremely wicked smile because he remembered the little fact that he wasn't in this alone. Oh, no, Jim was part of this so if he was going down, Jim would go with him

He took another sip of his coffee, another bite of the buttery pastry and smiled.

Twenty-five minutes later, Rhonda announced that Binks had arrived. Nodding…and grinning again, he said into the com, "Tell Ellison to get his butt in here first. Give me five minutes with him before you bring in Mr. Binks."

" _You got it, Simon_."

She was smirking. He could definitely hear her smirk. Well, payback was a bitch.

A knock announced his best detective, and with a voice dripping with diabetic sweetness, Simon said, "Come in."

Jim opened the door and stepped inside. "Sir, you wanted to see me?"

Simon smiled at his man…and then frowned. Was that…chocolate on the corner of his mouth? Well, no matter. Whatever high the chocolate had provided, he was about to remove the wind from beneath Jim's wings. He got up leisurely, walked around to the front of his desk, perched nonchalantly on the edge, and asked, "Jim, do you remember what month this is?"

A tiny alarm bell went off in Jim's head. Simon was altogether too easygoing and since when did he need to ask about the month…unless something was up…something he'd forgotten. Nevertheless, he answered, warily, "It would be…April?"

"April, yes. And do you remember what the 23rd is?"

"Um, would that be the 23rd of April that's coming up this weekend, sir?"

"Precisely. Sunday, to be more exact. And to be even more precise: Easter Sunday." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "What about this Saturday?"

"Sir, do I win anything for these answers?"

"As a matter of fact, you do." He paused, smiled, and said, "Michael Binks, Jim."

Looking thoroughly puzzled now, because of course, he were going to win a man, it wouldn't be someone named Binks. Blair, yes, Binks, no. And the name itself…nope, not ringing any bells.

Simon, seeing the blank look on his detective's face, leaned forward and whispered gleefully, "Binks heads up the Mayor's Annual…Cascade…Easter…Egg…Hunt."  
Jim's blank face took on a look of horror.

Fuck.

Shit.

He waved a hand aimlessly in the air. "Uhm, Simon, I…you…we--"

"Are committed, Jim. Our word is our bond, remember? We promised. And he's - here. Today. Now."

Double shit, double fuck, double crap.

Life is short and then you die...specifically this Saturday.

At that moment, Rhonda poked her head in. "Simon, Mr. Binks?"

Simon immediately morphed into Mr. Congeniality as he rushed the door, moved past Rhonda and quickly ushered in a man in his late thirties.

Michael Binks was almost Jim's height with black curly hair that just brushed the top of the perfectly starched white collar of his Oxford shirt. In his arms, he carried two large boxes.

At a look from Simon, Jim grudgingly moved to take one of them and, together, they got them down on the large conference table.

After straightening his tie, Binks faced Simon, his bright green eyes alight. "Captain Banks, it's so good to see you again. And Detective Ellison."

The three men shook hands and then Simon pulled out a chair for his guest, who gladly sunk into it. Obviously the boxes had taken their toll on his energy. Smiling up at them, he finally said, "I want to extend my gratitude to you gentlemen. You can't begin to understand what a delight it's been to plan the annual Easter Egg hunt knowing that I wouldn't have to worry about the two most important elements of the event. My entire staff is extremely grateful to you both. Volunteering last year and then to agree to do the same this year? Admirable, to say the least."

Simon smiled with every degree of charm he possessed. "It's our pleasure, Michael. Isn't it, Jim?"

In spite of his churning stomach and the acid that threatened to erupt, he managed to get out a strangled, "Yes."

"Well, this is wonderful, gentlemen. I know how busy you are, protecting the city, so to give up a precious Saturday for the children of Cascade, well, I'm overcome. Trust me, the Mayor will not soon forget this."

Binks turned his attention to the boxes, to get them open, but then his expression changed from one of eagerness to horror. He gazed up at Simon and said, "Oh, dear, this is terrible. How stupid of me."

Simon looked at Jim. Jim looked at Simon and shrugged. Simon looked down at Binks and said tentatively, "Michael?"

"I'd forgotten your size - as in your height. You're really quite tall, aren't you? Which worked last year, but this year, the costumes have been redone, they're brand new and... Oh, dear." He turned his attention to Jim then, took in his height and shook his head. "You're both too big. Just - too - big now. Oh, this will never do, never."

He got to his feet and started to pace. "No, you could never wear the yellow one, Captain." He stopped in front of Jim, cocked his head. "But maybe…just maybe…you could handle the pink one," he mused, "But no, your shoulders are too broad. The pink one is certainly long enough, but you'd rip out the back. And I'm afraid the yellow one is out for you as well."

Simon looked at Jim. Jim looked at Simon. This time both men shared a smile that would make the angels sing. Then Simon schooled his expression and said with just the right amount of sorrow, "This is devastating news for both of us. But perhaps, other officers?" Simon offered, sincerity fairly dripping from his voice.

At that moment, Jim looked out the window and spotted Rafe entering the squad room. With a devilish glint in his eyes, he said, "Uhm, er, Simon, what about Rafe? He's only slightly shorter than me but he's definitely not as broad in the shoulders…."

Michael followed Jim's gaze and, as he spotted Rafe, who was now at the coffee center, his eyes lit up. "He's perfect, Captain Banks. Just perfect."

Trying to hide his delight, Simon walked to the door, opened it, and said softly, "Oh, Rafe? Could you give me a minute?"

Hearing the niceness in his boss's voice, Rafe had the overwhelming urge to run. When Simon sounded this good - it was bad. But he sucked it up. "Yes, sir, of course sir."

Holding the door open for him, Simon welcomed his detective and, once inside, introduced him. "Rafe, this is Michael Binks, assistant to Mayor Crawley. He's in charge of the Mayor's Annual Easter Egg Hunt. Michael, this is Detective Brian Rafe. And I'm certain he's available this weekend. He's just as committed to the children of Cascade as Jim and I."

Rafe's heart sank at the dreaded words, "Easter Egg Hunt" - which meant - Oh, God, the Cascade Easter Bunny. But no, certainly not him. Simon always…and Jim always… But one look at both their faces and he knew.

Shit. Fuck and double fuck.

Michael immediately opened one of the boxes and pulled out a pale pink bunny costume with the requisite long, furry ears, large pink feet and, of course, the white cottontail. He held it up to Rafe and smiled hugely. "Oh, yes, a perfect fit. Detective Rafe, you are to be commended. The children of Cascade will not be disappointed this Easter."

Rafe looked helplessly at his Captain as the pink thing was draped over his arm and, seeing only Simon's smirk, he surrendered.

Damn.

"But gentlemen," Binks added. "That still leaves the yellow one. And it's much smaller this year. I find it hard to believe you have another officer--"

In complete and total unison, all three men said, "Sandburg".

Jim actually cackled.

Michael looked from one to the other and to the other. "Sandburg? What's a Sandburg?"

"That would be _Detective_ Sandburg, Jim's partner, and he'd be perfect," Simon offered sweetly.

At that moment, the perfect patsy of a partner walked into the squad room, freshly showered and changed.

"There he is," Rafe pointed out very helpfully.

Binks craned his neck and, seeing the younger man, his eyes widened. "Oh, yes, he's absolutely perfect." But then his face fell. "But, Sandburg? Perhaps, I mean, this is a religious holiday, Captain. Detective Sandburg may have - reservations? He is perhaps, of the Hebrew faith?"

Jim smiled mischievously and said, "Oh, don't worry about that, Michael. Sandburg's a little bit of everything, Jewish, Wiccan, heck, I bet there's even a touch of Druid in him." He turned to Simon and said, as if asking for agreement, "We could call his religion - Sandburgian, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. Let me get him in here, introduce you two."

Much like the Roman Emperors of yore, Simon invited the innocent and unsuspecting Jewish/Wiccan/Druid/Whatever into the lion's den.

***

All Blair had to see was the smile on Simon's face to know he was stepping into the proverbial spider's web. God, he hated that smile.

Fuck. Jim was smiling too. And it was Blair's least favorite. It was Jim's, "Tag - You're It" smile. Blair didn't need his high I.Q. to know he was in deep do-do.

Shit.

"Captain?" he asked while giving Simon his best "Who me?" look. He thought briefly of batting his eyelashes, but the Bandini was already hip deep.

"Sandburg, just the man we need."

As Simon spoke, he dropped a friendly arm across Blair's shoulders and guided him to the conference table. "I don't believe you've met Michael Binks, Assistant to the Mayor?"

Blair, suspicion blooming, nevertheless stuck out his hand.

As they shook, Binks said, "Detective Sandburg, thank you so much. You don't realize what this will mean to the success of the event."

Blair smiled wanly and responded with one of his patented brilliant comebacks,  
"Event?"

Michael grinned happily as he said as if everyone knew exactly what he was talking about, "Naturally the Cascade Easter Bunny is important, but between you and me, it's the Easter Baby Chick that really makes the event. The bunny stands in one place and hands out the baskets, but our Baby Chick actually interacts with all the children throughout the day, playing with them, helping them find their Easter eggs, etc.. He's really the star." He opened the other box, his expression a mixture of reverence and joy.

He carefully folded back the tissue to reveal a giant yellow fur ball. Indicating the pink costume draped over Rafe's arm, he said, "Now, the Cascade Easter Bunny costume is in one piece, as you can see. Detective Rafe simply steps into it, pulls it up, including the hood with the ears, and he's done."

Rafe gulped and looked slightly sick, but Binks, unaware, rolled on.

"But our new Baby Chick costume comes in four parts, and I must say, it's a masterpiece of costume engineering." He pulled out a pair of bright yellow long-johns. "First there's the yellow body suit made of Lycra - just like Superman's." He grinned at that even as he handed the body suit to a slightly green Sandburg. "But this year, the feet are built in so there's no chance," he shot an apologetic look at Jim, "of them falling off and tripping you." He looked back at the box and removed what looked like a yellow cotton ball - a giant yellow cotton ball. "Then, of course, you have the actual body of the chick." He unrolled the ball, fluffed it up and out with his fingers and said proudly, "You just step into it, pull it up and slip on the attached yellow suspenders and it kind of poofs out. Oh, and note that the baby chick wings are attached this year so there's no chance of any of the children…well, uhm…you know, pulling them off." He cleared his throat and then held up another piece. "The third part of the costume is the hood and, as you can see, you simply slip it on."

Giving that to an even more green-tinged Sandburg, he reached back into the apparently bottomless pit of a box and, with a triumphant whoop, produced…the beak.

"And the final part - the beak. Now make sure you put it on before you pull up the hood, see? The elastic just slips over your head and you drop it down…."

No one moved an inch as the garish proboscis was placed on Sandburg's pug nose….

"......over your face and adjust it over your nose." Michael adjusted the monstrosity before adding, "And there you have it. Our Easter Baby Chick."

Blair stood there, orange beak covering half his face, arms straight out in front of him with the yellow mess draped over them, resolutely refusing to look at Jim, while at the same time, planning a mass murder. Martyrdom was fine, but Blair had every intention of taking several people with him.

Blair wondered briefly why detectives didn't have silencers…while also contemplating including Binks in his murder plot. After all, three bodies or four, what's the difference?  
He gave one smothered sigh before pulling up on the beak so that it rested on top of his head like a pair of garish sunglasses. He glanced up at Michael, caught the glimmer of almost immediately suppressed humor, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Michael's whole demeanor changed as he realized he'd been discovered. With a shameful grin, he explained, "I was the Baby Chick two years in a row and was only saved by Detective Ellison last year."

Blair looked over at Jim, one eyebrow arched. Jim just shrugged and said, "You were with Naomi in Taos, remember? You missed the event." Then he smirked. "You turned her down this year."

"Well," Blair said as he glanced over at Rafe and the horrible yellow thing he was hodling, "at least I don't have to wear a cottontail."

"Yeah? Well, at least I don't have to wear a beak!" Rafe shot back.

"On the other hand," Blair snapped, "I look great in yellow but you suck in pink."

"But I don't have to move around all day, whereas--"

"Gentlemen?" Simon interrupted firmly. "Enough! Now I realize that chasing after a horde of five-year olds up and down the green lawns in front of the Mayor's home - while wearing a hot, sweaty costume from approximately nine in the morning until one in the afternoon, isn't in the job description of a Major Crime Detective, but it _is_ for the children and you volunteering will be duly noted in your files."

Since neither man looked overly impressed by that, Michael said, "I too realize how much you both will contribute to the event. Including entertaining the children - and their parents - at the buffet table. But trust me, gentlemen, this is a grave responsibility, one that I and the Mayor take very seriously."

Simon had watched in delight as the future Cascade Easter Bunny and Baby Chick wilted before Michael's honest look. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the resourcefulness of the new Easter Baby Chick.

"But Michael," Blair said with enough charm for ten people, "I _can_ call you Michael, can't I?" At the Assistant to the Mayor's happy nod, Blair continued. "I vaguely remember seeing pictures of the event from last year and it seems to me, well, wasn't there a need for security and didn't a good number of the Cascade P.D. make up some of that security? And didn't some of them dress up as part of the wait staff - with rabbit ears and bunny tails?" At Michael's nod, he continued, "Well, then…and I'm just thinking off the top of my head here, but it seems to me…what with Simon's and Jim's prior experience…."

He let his voice trail off when he saw the "Ah-ha" moment hit Michael, who was obviously one quick cookie.

"Oh, of course!" Michael said with a snap of his fingers. He glanced over at Jim and Simon. "Captain? Detective Ellison? I can count on you for this detail, yes? And perhaps one or two other detectives?"

The same exact thoughts were mirrored in both Simon's dark eyes and Jim's pale blue ones.

 _Waiter uniforms? Rabbit ears? Bunny Tails_?

 _Shit. Fuck. Crap_.

The two men, hoisted by their own petards, looked at each other helplessly, again, their thoughts in perfect unison.

 _Curses, foiled again. And by an Easter Baby Chick_.

***

 **Later, that same day** :

Blair sat alone in the booth, waiting for Jim to return from the bathroom. They'd already ordered, had their usual fight over whether Jim could have the Slobbering Bruno Burger with everything and "… _where did Blair come off as Jim's mother and diet guru_ …." not to mention their typical, "… _who should sit on the inside of the booth and who should sit on the outside and no, neither one could have just one beer because there were criminals out there just waiting to be caught and arrested by the team of Ellison/Sandburg_." Then Jim had excused himself to wash his hands, leaving Blair alone, playing with his fork and musing.

About rules.

Blair Sandburg was a healthy, relatively good-looking young man. He loved men, he loved women but he was _in_ love with his partner. A partner who loved rules and bargains.

His mind flashed back three years….

_"Look, Chief, it's been over a week and you're still here and I like it that way."_

_"It's been six months, but who's counting?"_

_"Yeah, well, anyway, it's time we had the talk."_

_"The talk, Jim?" Blair made those annoying little quote marks in the air._

_They were sitting at the kitchen table, scarfing down spaghetti with turkey meatballs and, after taking a sip of wine, Jim nodded. "Yeah, the talk. The  sex talk."_

_A turkey meatball was propelled out of Blair's mouth, shot across the table and hit with a splat against Jim's chest. He handled it well by eating it._

_"Jim, I know I don't pay rent, but you need to remember, you're a cop. And I don't do that."_

_"Actually, Chief, you do. All the time and far too frequently if you ask me...."_

_"...which I don't."_

_"Right, which you don't. And the sex talk I'm referring to is this; You like men, I like men and, as it happens, we're both men. Men living together and working together and I'm telling you right now that the twain shall not meet. Capice?"_

_Batting his eyelashes, Blair asked, "Would that be the tu-tu twain, Jim?"_

_"No, wiseass, that would be the Jim/Blair twain. Got it?"_

_Blair nodded, doing a masterful job of hiding his smirk behind his wine glass._

_"Good."_

_"Uhm, Jim? I have something to add to this scintillating conversation by offering my version of," he made the quote marks again, "the talk. It goes like this: You're the subject of my dissertation - thus I could never fuck you - no matter how much you beg. And Jim? You will beg. Capice?"_

_Jim Ellison was a cop, an ex-Ranger, a stand-up guy, and now, apparently, a sentinel. Thus, as a man with such great responsibilities, he did the only thing he could: he put a turkey meatball in his spoon and let it fly. It hit Blair square in the forehead, ran down his nose and landed on his plate._

_"Gee, Jim, has it really been only six months?"_

Blair absently rubbed at his forehead as he nodded to himself. Yep, he hated rules and to add insult to injury - Jim had never begged. Not once. Hell, he hadn't even shown an interest, and Blair thought he was one pretty cute permanent and official partner.

Jim slid in beside him, rewarded him with a smile and said, "So, anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

Blair ignored the question by asking, "Did you flush?"

"Yes, mom. Washed my hands too."

"Good, good. And about this weekend. Did I tell you about the appointment I have with President Clinton? I'm going to have to pass on the Baby Chick shtick."

The waiter arrived with their lunch so Jim was unable to immediately respond. The delectable mound of fried onions on his plate, not to mention the Rueben sandwich, beckoned. He took a big bite, chewed and regarded his partner, who was picking the sprouts from his three cheese, avocado, tomato, tuna and egg salad sandwich.

Jim swallowed and, before taking another bite, asked, "And the President wants you why?"

"You know, Jim, that's exactly what I keep asking, but there's no explaining the man's taste. But he _is_ the President, thus ranks higher than the Easter Egg hunt. And yeah, I'm just devastated."

"Oh, yeah, I can see the devastation. It's written all over your face - like the mayo on your sandwich. Oh, by the way? You _will_ be the Baby Chick this weekend, whether you like it or not, so get over it."

"But Jiiim, Hilary asked too...."

***

Arriving back at the station, Blair was surprised to find a gold box sitting in the middle of his desk. He glanced back at Jim, who was looking at the box as if it were a bomb. Blair sat down and slowly picked up the gift. He untied the ribbon as Jim watched, then lifted the lid.

Nestled inside were two gold foil wrapped Easter chickens. Each had a blue ribbon around its neck and, of all things, blue eyes. The foil wrapping proclaimed them to be,  
" _Godiva. Milk Chocolate/Chocolate au lait_." Attached to one of them was a note which Blair flipped around and read:

**Hi**

"Uhm, Jim? Is this a joke?"

Jim took out the note from his morning bag of eggs and handed it to Blair as he said,  
"Something's up, Chief."

Blair gazed from one note to the other, then back again. "It's the same writing. Or should I say - printing."

"So it is. My, but you're becoming quite the detective."

"Fuck you, Ellison."

"Nope, against the rules."

"Thank god. Now, are we going to try to solve this chocolate mystery, or stand around gabbing?"

"I like chocolate, Chief. Why should I try to figure this out?"

"So you're saying we should just go with the flow?"

"Or in this case, the chocolate. And don't forget to call the President and tell him you wouldn't be coming."

An eraser went 'thwop' against his chest.

***

The following mornings resulted in more chocolate ending up on their desks.

-On Tuesday, Jim found a duplicate of what had been left for Blair the day before but this time the note read, " _ **Hi again**_!"

-On Wednesday, it was one dozen chocolate eggs for Blair, just like Jim had received on day one. The note read, " _ **Got it yet**_?"

-On Thursday morning, Jim received a hand-painted foil wrapped Godiva Easter Bunny with a pink straw hat slipped on over its ears. The note said, " _ **The Game's a foot**_!"

Later that afternoon, when the two men came back from a grueling day in court where they'd been forced to play endless games of hang-man and rock/scissors/paper, another bunny sat on Blair's desk, this one with a purple straw hat. The note said, " _ **And you two call yourselves detectives**_?"

As Blair bit off the chocolate ears and munched contentedly, Jim stalked. The other detectives watched, all delighting in the chocolate mystery but now certain Mount Vesuvius was about to blow. No one noticed that Blair was no longer in the least bit bothered.

"Who's doing this and what the fuck does it mean?" Jim said after returning to his desk having found no clues anywhere in the squad room. "And damn it, I have a zit on my chin."

"You've been eating too much chocolate, Jim. Try cottage cheese."

Jim turned an icy stare at Blair. "You know, Sandburg, sometimes I really hate you."

Blair snorted and then bit off the chocolate tail.

***

 **Friday Morning** -

They rode silently up in the elevator. Blair stared at the ceiling, Jim stared at the floor.

Blair was pretty certain what would be on their desks this morning and he'd been trying to decide if he should share his conclusions with Jim, but rules were rules and the twain wasn't supposed to meet. Toot-Toot.

The door slid open and they stepped out. Jim paused as they both noticed the crowd around their desks.

"Looks like more gifts, Chief," Jim said, unsure if he was glad or not.

"Indubitably, Watson."

"Sandburg, in this relationship, I'm Sherlock, you're Watson. Clear?"

"Okay, so which of us is Captain Kirk?"

"I don't know or care - but you're definitely Scully."

"I accept that. She's cool, smart and savvy - and leaves Mulder in the dust more times than not. Kind of like us. Jim Ellison, the clueless wonder sentinel and his faithful, intelligent, handsome, charming, years-ahead-of-his-time partner, Blair Sandburg."

"You've been out of the home way too long, Sandburg. Way too long. I'm taking you back right after the Easter Egg Hunt. They'll give you milk and cookies and lots and lots of Thorazine."

"Can I watch the Twilight Zone marathon?"

"Yep, and the Incredible Hulk marathon too."

"Oh, goody. But perhaps you should take me back tonight? The natives are getting restless and I'm supposed to lead the revolt against Nurse Ratchett."

"Sandburg, you _will_ be the Baby Chick."

"Spoilsport."

Jim gave Blair a little push. "Go. Time to see what's so interesting on our desks. The gaggle of geese are looking ansty."

They walked through the squad room doors and the gaggle parted as detectives stepped back, allowing the two men their first glimpse of whatever had been left this time.

Blair whistled appreciatively. There, in the middle of each desk, sat a huge, cellophane- wrapped Easter Basket. Blair grinned. God, he loved being right. He snuck a quick look at his partner and grinned even wider. Jim's eyes were round and ready to take off into outer space. He watched as Jim started to open his basket, to carefully fold down the pink cellophane to disclose the scrumptious tidbits inside.

Two huge solid chocolate rabbits took center grass. They were facing each other, nose to nose, one slightly taller than the other. Scattered around them were several small chocolate Easter eggs, a gift certificate to Tortilla Flats Restaurant, two tickets to the movies and another card. Jim lifted it out and read, " **Figure it out yet**?"

Rafe leaned over and said, "What's with you two anyway? You both dating twins with a warped sense of humor?"

"Bite me, Rafe. By the way, how's the bunny suit fitting these days?"

"About as well as your bunny ears and white tail, Ellison."

Jim made a dismissive gesture with his hand, growled and the minions scattered.

Once they were left alone, Jim turned to Blair, eyed his basket, as yet unwrapped and said, "You're not going to open it? Read the card?"

Once again Blair warred with himself on whether to tell Jim his suspicions. A final volley by the mental opposition left him flat on his back with his bags packed and Jim standing over him yelling, "The twain shall not meet. Go find yourself another station!"

Blair decided discretion was indeed the better part of valor and tore into his basket instead. He found the same two rabbits and eggs, but no gift certificates or passes, just more chocolate. His card was laying under one of the rabbits and tucked into an envelope. He pulled it out and read it silently.

" **Personally, I always thought Watson was smarter than Holmes.** "

Blair ducked his head down in order to hide the grin, letting his hair smother his expression.

"Well? What does it say?"

"Same as yours, Jim," he obfuscated.

Ellison fingered the gift certificate and said, "Well, my admirer is a whole lot more generous than yours, Chief."

"Oh, ho, so we've decided these are from two different people?"

"Well, you didn't get the certificates - I did. Draw your own conclusions, Darwin."

Blair, disgust written all over his face, said, "You know, you really are the stupidest man on earth." He stalked out, fresh air and meditation his only goal since punching out his partner in front of everyone wouldn't be a good thing. Fun, yes. Rewarding, yes. Satisfaction guaranteed, yes. But wise, no.

As he entered the hallway, he wondered if Jim would have hit him back.

***

The rest of the day passed swiftly, as days before executions usually do.

The criminals did nothing to assist Blair in his efforts to avoid becoming the Easter Baby Chick and he really didn't think he was asking all that much. A bullet, just grazing his arm, for instance. Or a little bump on the head or maybe a brief but traumatic kidnapping for a change. But no, the good criminals of Cascade stayed underground all day, refusing to show their faces.

The ingrates.

And after all that Blair Sandburg had done for them too.

Twenty minutes before he and Jim were due to leave, Simon made an appearance, his cheesecake or sex smile firmly in place. He sauntered over to Blair's desk and dropped a sheaf of papers in front of him. "Instructions for tomorrow, Sandburg. Times, changing room, agenda, etc. I'm bringing my camera."

Blair took the papers and then made a grave error by saying, "A camera's a great idea, Captain. I'm sure Daryl will love having a picture of his father in bunny ears and a cottontail. I know I'll want a couple of copies. Maybe you and Jim will pose together for us?"

Jim had been taking a sip of cold coffee when Blair made the fatal error, which caused him to swallow the wrong way, hence he started coughing, hacking and basically choking to death.

Blair stood, watched bemusedly, then excused himself to go to the men's room.

Simon moved to Jim's side and started thumping him on his back, telling him to raise his arms, which he did, but then Megan said, "No, he should bend forward" which he did - just as Simon gave him another whack on the back, thus pushing his head against his desk - hard. His skull thwacked, bounced…and Megan quickly excused herself to go to the women's room.

"Sorry, Jim. You okay?" Simon asked, not really caring.

"I'm fine, sir."

"Good. Good. You don't really need Sandburg as your back-up anymore, do you?"

Rubbing his forehead, feeling the bruise already rising, Jim said, "No sir, I do _not_ need Sandburg anymore. But Traffic could use a good man."

"I was thinking the cafeteria. Guard duty."

"How about a compromise? Traffic in the morning and the cafeteria in the afternoon?"

Simon pinched his nose, squinted his eyes, then nodded. "Yes, I like that. Starting Monday."

"Very good, sir."

Simon then waved at the baskets. "So what's this all about?"

"Haven't a clue, Simon. But I'm enjoying it."

"What's in the envelope?"

"Gift certificate to Tortilla Flats and two tickets to the movies."

"Nice. Who you thinking of taking?"

"Don't know. No rush."

"Well, there's always Gretchen in Files. She's had her eye on you for weeks."

"Too tall."

"How 'bout Detective Wilson?"

"Hair too short."

"Maybe that nice Dina Walters from the Raddison case. Weren't you talking about calling her now that everything was settled?"

"She can't string two sentences together."

"I wasn't aware you were looking for someone who could actually - talk?"

"Very funny, Simon."

"You just make sure that no matter who you use those tickets on, Sandburg is in full uniform for the event. Got it?"

"No problem, Simon. If I have to dress him and hog tie him to the top of the truck, he'll be there."

"As a general rule, Jim, this job sucks. But every now and then, a streak of sunlight makes its way into my miserable existence and this weekend, that streak's name is Sandburg."

Jim grinned and nodded. "You have to take life's small gifts when you can."

They both smiled dreamily, the idea of Blair Sandburg in a Baby Chick outfit first and foremost in their brain.

Oh, yes, Sunday promised to bring manna from heaven.

***

Seven miles away, in a cheap motel room, three men plotted.

On a table, a map was spread out, the men hunched over it.

The tallest of the three men tapped a spot that had been circled in red. "The parents will be gathered here and so busy watching their brats, they won't feel a thing." He turned to the man next to him. "You've got the passes?"

The darker man nodded and held up three purple, laminated I.D. passes. "Easy as 1-2-3. They don't have much imagination in the Mayor's office. These were a breeze to copy."

"Then we're set. We move through the crowd, pick the pockets of the rich and come away with a fortune."

"God, I love our Mayor," said the third man. "What other guy would have an Easter Egg Hunt for the _rich_ kids?"

"Ya gotta love Cascade."

 **Sunday dawns** -

Blair rolled over, pulled the blanket up and tucked it under his chin. He dug his head deeper into the two pillows with their soft, jersey pillow cases and willed the sun that was streaming through his small window to go away.

Drat.

Cascade, Washington.

Pacific Northwest.

April.

It should be raining buckets, but no, not today, when rain was so desperately needed.

A cheery voice from the kitchen interrupted his planned pact with the devil; one that included giving up his first born _and_ sex in return for a rainy day.

" _Oh, Blair…time to get up. It's Sunday_."

The sing-song voice grated over his nerves, leaving him to wonder how many ways there really were to kill a man with a paperclip. Bet Jim knew every one of them, but would he share? No-ooo.

Blair rolled onto his back and regarded the ceiling. He sighed heavily.

On the chair next to his desk sat _the_ white box - and on top of _the_ box; _the_ beak.

He sighed again and ticked off his reasons for being miserable today:

Thirty-years old.  
Unmarried and likely to remain so.  
Living with an almost forty-year old divorced man - in separate bedrooms.  
Hadn't had a good fuck or been well fucked in months.  
Was developing carpel tunnel syndrome from one-handed sex and the purchase of numerous boxes of baby wipes was starting to embarrass him. Not to mention the number of sheet changes. He was doing laundry every other day and was going through hand lotion like it was water. But hey, at least his right hand was appreciably softer.

Among other things.

And the final item on his 'why I'm miserable today' list?

He was soon to be forced to romp around the Mayor's home while wearing a - bright - yellow - baby - chick costume.

Could his life get any worse? Any more pathetic? He glanced over at the beak.

Yes, it could.

He threw off the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, scratched his stomach, reached lower, scratched deliciously there, stood, stretched, felt the bones crack, grabbed his robe and padded out into the living room.

***

Jim turned when he heard the bare feet hit the wood floor and, a few minutes later, a sleepy, tousled-haired Blair exited his bedroom.

Ah, Jim's favorite time of any day. Morning. Which allowed him to watch Blair exit his room. He was always yawning while, at the same time, running his fingers through the tangled nest of curls that was his hair.

Blair looked good enough to eat. Whole.

Jim leaned happily back against the sink, arms crossed over his chest, and watched; a half smile on his face.

Eventually Blair stopped yawning, left his hair alone, raised his nose in the air, sniffed, and asked, "What do I smell?"

"Blueberry waffles, Chief."

Blair regarded his roommate with awe. "Waffles? Blueberry?" At Jim's nod, he asked in disbelief, " _You_ made blueberry waffles?"

"Now Sandburg, you know damn well I can cook. I just don't always choose to."

Blair sniffed the air again, took in a big whiff, and smiled happily. Blueberry waffles, who knew?

Jim turned back around, reached up, took down the syrup, put it on the table and said, "I figured with you having to be a baby chick today, directing traffic on Monday, followed by cafeteria guard duty in the afternoon, you deserved a last meal - so to speak."

"You're such a funny man. Really. A chuckle a minute. The laughs just never end with you around." Blair sat down. "I don't know how I lived without your humor before, I really don't." He waited a beat. "But I'd be willing to try again." Then, before Jim had a chance to come back with something he'd think was just as witty, he added, "We both know darn well that I won't end up in Traffic tomorrow because Simon loves me to  
pieces--"

"Yeah, and isn't it lucky I'm a sentinel because that makes me just the man to _find_ those pieces when he starts burying them all over Cascade."

Blair craned his neck to watch Jim open the waffle maker and carefully remove a mouthwatering waffle. Somehow he managed to say, "Simon doesn't worry me."

Jim split the large round waffle, placing half on one plate, the other half on a second plate and, before carrying them out to the table, lifted a paper towel to reveal several slices of crisp bacon. He dropped a couple on each plate and headed toward the table as he said, "I predict by the year 2001, Simon will finally grant you amnesty for your transgressions of yesterday." He put one plate in front of his partner before taking his seat, prepared to dig into his breakfast - but first, he watched with some delight as Blair picked up his fork, cut into the waffle, dipped it into the syrup he'd just poured, waved the fork around his mouth and nose, inhaled its fragrance…and...slowly let his lips close over the bit of ambrosia.

Watching Blair eat might be Jim's second favorite thing - of any day.

"Well," Blair mumbled around the waffle, "if he doesn't forgive me, this waffle makes it worth while. You are a king among waffle-makers, Jim."

Jim took a couple bites…and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I am. These are good and I don't mind saying so."

Fifteen minutes later, Blair was on his fourth split waffle when Jim looked pointedly at his watch. "Time to get cracking, Chief. You know the drill."

Blair stuffed the last chunk of the breakfast confection into his mouth along with the last of his bacon, wiped his lips, swallowed a huge gulp of milk and pushed back his chair. "I'm ready for this, but I'm not going to like it. And you, as my partner and roommate, should be prepared. I plan to make everyone miserable for days to come. Beware the Ides of April and Blair Sandburg."

Jim snorted.

***

The Mayor lived in one of the old Victorian mansions in the Roosevelt district; the kind of mansions that were so grand, they deserved their own names. In the mayor's case, the home was called "The Hennessy".  It had been purchased by the city over fifty years ago, refurbished, declared a landmark and then designated the official residence for the mayors of Cascade.

The home was situated on a small hill overlooking Roosevelt Park and the lake. Its rolling lawns and surrounding garden made it ideal for the annual Easter egg hunt and, while Cascade's might not be as famous as the White House version, it was still one of the biggest charity events of the year. It also had the added benefit of allowing city politicians, the mayor included, to do a little campaigning, not to mention fundraising for whichever party was in power.

As Jim swung the truck into the back circular driveway and pulled up behind the catering trucks, Blair gave an appreciative whistle. "This is place is fantastic."

"I thought you'd been here before?"

Blair glanced over at his partner, one eyebrow heading north. "What would give you that idea?"

Jim turned off the ignition and faced his partner. "Maybe something Naomi shared, specifically about a particular Easter that involved you joining the egg hunt here? Hello?"

"Not _here_ , you idiot. Gracie Mansion in New York City. I was four and got trampled by a horde of six-year old greedy egg-hunters. Mom had to rescue me and I've had a fear of colored eggs and kindergartners ever since. In fact, I'm getting a panic attack now. Maybe I should go to the hospital?"

"Jeez, you're unbelievable. You'll say anything to get out of this."

Blair laughed. "Nah, I'm up for it. But the horde of six-year old kids was true. I really got trampled to the point that the following year, Naomi put her foot down and said no more barbaric Christian ceremonies, we'd celebrate Passover instead."

Jim chuckled as he tried to picture a toddling Blair curling up into a curly-haired ball while trying to avoid the older rampaging kids. "I bet you were cute, what with all those curls - and in your Easter suit too."

"Oh, God, don't remind me. Pale yellow shorts with suspenders - and a yellow and green short-sleeved shirt. I actually looked like an Easter egg… Hell, the kids probably thought I was. And you know how short I was. I couldn't outrun a two-year old." He unbuckled his seat belt. "Personally, all childhood photos should be destroyed once the child reaches puberty."

"In that case, Chief, your mother has a few more years to gaze fondly upon your baby photos."

"Gosh, there's that non-humor again. Man, you should take your show on the road...a really long road. Or better yet - a very short pier."

They got out of the truck but not before Jim reached back and picked up the costume box. Looking around, he asked, "I assume the instructions Michael provided told us where to report?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, the swimming area. We're supposed to change in the dressing rooms by the pool. Good old Cascade. Never mind the poor and destitute, let's just make sure our mayor has poolside dressing rooms."

Jim tweaked a curl. "Save it, Chief. You know darn well that even though this place will be full of the rich and famous of Cascade, the end result will be a mountain of money for the kids at the homeless shelters around the city."

"Very true, but still…."

They walked around the side of the house, following a voice yelling through a megaphone. As they rounded the final corner, the pool came into view…along with Michael Binks. He caught sight of them and, smiling, walked over.

"Gentlemen, am I glad to see you. We're a mess this morning. The eggs were late, which means our people have less than two hours to hide them, so naturally, everyone is absolutely crazy. Blair, you're assigned to room three and Jim, you're in four. Your wait staff uniform is hanging up and ready for you. I'm certain it will fit, but if there are any problems, let me know."

He lead them around the sparkling blue pool as people ran by, all yelling, pointing and doing a fine job of imitating headless chickens.

"Is Rafe already here?"

For some reason, Jim's question caused Michael to blush to his roots as he nodded. "He arrived quite early, actually. He's been a godsend. Right now, he's helping the caterers."

"Good old Rafe," Blair quipped, not missing the blush. "He's a real gem, Michael, and I lied when I said he looked lousy in pink. He looks terrific."

"He's already in costume, so yes, I'd have to say he does indeed." Michael blushed again before adding, "Well, I'd better get out front, there are dozens more eggs that need hiding, and again, if you need anything, just yell." With that, he was off.

With a disgusted look, Jim grabbed Blair's arm and pulled him toward the dressing rooms. "Come on, Mr. Matchmaker, lets get changed."

"I am so not matchmaking. You saw his blush. That says it all, which means they don't need any help from me."

Jim made a yapping motion with his fingers before giving Blair a push toward his dressing room. "Go. The sooner we change, the sooner we can help."

***

Blair stood in front of the mirror and groaned.

He'd managed to get himself into the body suit and now, as he gazed at his reflection, had to bite back the need to laugh hysterically. There was absolutely no describing the sight...although...if he leaned slightly to his left, he could be...a banana.

With some trepidation, he picked up the yellow ball of fur and, one leg at a time, slipped it on, pulled it up over his hips, slipped his arms in and out the wing holes, then zipped it up to his neck. The hood flopped behind him but he didn't have the nerve to pull it up yet. He stepped into the rubber feet, turned back to the mirror - and hissed.

" _Blair Sandburg_ ," he thought in disgust, " _you're a fruitcake. You deserve this. You're smart. You should have been able to get out of this because yes, you actually look like a baby chick_."

Sadly, he shook his head. At this rate, Jim wouldn't be begging anytime soon. He'd get one look at Blair today and run for the hills because this was not sexy. This was not cute. This was not endearing.

This was a joke.

A joke he'd never hear the end of for the rest of his life.

Was thirty too old to run away from home?

Probably.

He reached back for the beak and hung it from his wrist. No need to totally embarrass himself - yet. With that thought, he stepped out of the dressing room and immediately noticed that Jim's dressing room door was open - and the room empty.

Feet flopping, he moved slowly toward the far side of the pool, searching for Jim while doing his best to ignore the pointing fingers and smothered grins every time the rubber chicken feet slapped the cement. Finally realizing the best way to deal with everyone's reaction to his outfit, he paused, faced the workers who were laughing and pointing, and, with a grin of his own, took an exaggerated bow. It worked. They responded with wild applause.

"I do believe you're a hit, Chief."

Blair swung around rapidly, his wing hitting Jim in the chest. "Jeez, scare a chicken, why don't you?"

"Sorry, Chief." Then Jim stepped back, gave Blair a thoughtful look as he stroked his jaw.

Blair, knowing Jim all too well, narrowed his eyes and warned, "So help me, you say anything, anything at all, and you're a dead man."

Jim shrugged and smiled. "Hey, I think you look - great. Just - great."

Blair gave a little 'humph' sound and stalked past Jim. As he waddled by, Jim got a good look at his chicken behind. The costume ended in a nice little chicken point, which at the moment, was wiggling rather enticingly leaving Jim enthralled with the tail as it swayed back and forth, back and forth....

Good God, he could zone on it, he realized.

"Jim? You coming?"

"Wha'? Oh…yeah. Coming." In more ways than one, he thought.

As Jim caught up with his partner, Blair added, "By the way, while you look pretty good in your waiter garb, there seems to be a couple of things missing - like the tail and the ears?"

"Don't get your flapping feet into a flip, Chief. When it's time, I'll be ready and fully outfitted. Besides, I don't see you with that beak on yet."

"Like you said - when it's time, man. When it's time." Then he frowned. "By the way…exactly how _do_ you get the tail on? I mean, I assumed it would already be, like, sewn on, or something?"

"Velcro, Sandburg. Simple Velcro."

Blair craned his head back and, sure enough, he could see a strip of Velcro resting quite comfortably on Jim's very nice ass. Staring at it, Blair had a sudden and insane urge to stick himself to that little strip and never separate himself again. Instead, he sighed and said, "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are. Now, let's go hide some Easter eggs."

As they wandered down to the front grass, Blair had a second insane urge that made him grin because honestly, he and Jim would look ridiculous if he took the man's hand and they then skipped their way down to the lawn. He should wait until Jim had his tail and ears on - then do it.

***

Three hours later, the party was in full swing and Blair, as the Easter Baby Chick, found himself the hit of the hunt with the kids. Rafe, standing stiffly at the top of the hill, gave out the baskets and patted the children awkwardly on their Easter-best heads.

As Blair ran with several children, guiding them to eggs, he had to admit to having fun. Heck, he felt like a six-year old himself as he peeped and squeaked for the kids, pecked them on their cheeks and lifted them in the air so they could find more eggs. It was so much fun, he was more than content to let the parents stay at the top of the grassy hill, sipping their champagne while chatting and watching their children scamper after him.

Jim, Simon and the other undercover officers, all with ears and tails in place, were moving through the crowd, pouring champagne, and offering hors d'oeuvres. And even though Jim was on duty, he was, after all, a sentinel, so if he took a few more opportunities than strictly necessary to watch his partner…well, that was his business. Besides, how could he not look each time he'd see a flash of yellow and hear a wild peep which would be followed by childish laughter? Shaking his head in wonder, he acknowledged the fact that Blair was nothing but a big thirty-year old kid.

But damn, he sure was a cute one.

As the party wore on, no one noticed the three men dressed in suits moving through the crowd, pressing in close and, whenever possible, lifting a wallet, snicking a watch, bracelet, necklace or a wad of bills.

Well, almost no one noticed.

Blair was running after a little boy, peeping loudly as the boy pointed up the hill to his father while giggling. Naturally Blair glanced up, spotted the father and, at the same moment, the pick-pocket behind him. He watched, amazed, as the man's wallet was stolen and pocketed.

 _Well, I'll be damned_ , he thought. And right under everyone's noses, too. He quickly searched the buffet tents, spotted Jim and said sing-songed under his breath, "o-h, Jim-im, we have some trou-ble."

He watched as Jim paused before turning in his direction.

"Twenty feet to your left, man in a dark blue suit standing with a woman in a pink sheath. Got them?" When Jim nodded, he added, "Check out the man behind him. He's a pickpocket…and I just spotted another one."

Jim nodded, shared the information with Simon via the ear mic and, after Simon alerted two other Major Crime detectives, cum waiters, Carl Phillips and Brad Withers, all four converged on the thieves from opposite directions.

Blair spotted a third man and quickly said, "Got another pickpocket…to Rafe's right. He's wearing a blue sports coat and red tie."

Jim nodded again and he and Simon immediately split up.

At that moment, the child that had been leading Blair on his merry chase suddenly ran up the hill to his father to tell him all about the baby chick and begging to let him " _take him home, daddy_?". Unfortunately, the first pickpocket had moved from one victim and was now in the middle of very cleverly removing a ruby bracelet from the arm of the boy's mother. The child, who was now resting comfortably in his father's arms, spotted the attempt a split second after Blair and started pointing excitedly. The thief gave a panicked look around him, spotted Jim making his way toward him with a look that couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was, namely, " _You're busted, buddy_ " so he gave up on the bracelet and started running down the lawn. His confederates, seeing him run - finally noticed the men advancing on them - so they began to run as well.

People started yelling, families panicked, children scattered and, amazed, Blair watched as one of the thieves ran right for him, knocking down two children along the way. Blair, wings flapping and feet slapping, got the kids up, checked them out, promised them more chocolate eggs and handed them over to their worried parents before taking off after the pickpocket.

The chase took them down the grassy hills, onto the driveway, out the gate and onto the street. As Blair ran, he pushed the hood back and ripped off the beak, but couldn't find a way to kick off the chicken feet.

Back at the mansion, Jim and Simon were chasing one of the others while the third one was tackled by a group of children, Detectives Phillips and Withers right behind them. The kids immediately sat on the guy as angry parents surrounded them.

Jim finally tackled his pickpocket, bringing him down hard and, moments later, had him cuffed. As he turned him over to one of the security guards, Simon caught up to him, more out of breath than he'd like to admit. He managed to point down the hill and say, "Sandburg" - which was all Jim needed. Sentinel sight told him the rest. He took off.

With a look heavenward, Simon took a deep breath - and followed.

***

The only thing Blair could hear was the sound of his rubber feet hitting the asphalt and his own breathing. He was running hard, the hood behind him flapping in rhythm with body movements. The thief was still ahead of him but, in spite of his costume, Blair was gaining. After they crossed Exeter, the thief made a right onto the almost deserted lakeside and touristy Madison Avenue.

The heat of the suit was killing Sandburg and, as he ran, he cursed the holiday, the mayor, Easter eggs, bunny rabbits, baby chicks and especially too-tall Sentinels and trains not meeting.

Up ahead, his criminal suddenly swerved left, crossed the street and disappeared into an alley. Blair picked up speed and followed him. He tried to work his hand into the chicken suit in order to get his gun, but the damn material and feathers kept getting in his way. He finally connected with it just as the man made a wild leap for the chain length fence that separated the alley from the street beyond.

Blair whipped out the gun, leveled it on the guy and yelled the requisite, "Freeze sucker! Cascade Police Department!" He thought he sounded a lot like Shaft and felt damn proud. That had to go some toward negating the fact that he was in a chicken suit. It was also his first "Freeze sucker" as an official detective and that was pretty cool too. Even more amazing, though, was that the guy actually froze. The bad news was that as he turned his head toward Blair and a look Blair recognized, came into his eyes. The man was going to try to bolt the rest of the way over the fence.

For some reason, the idea infuriated Blair. Like, really, the nerve of the guy.

He waved the gun in the air, angry now, and, just as the man looked back at the fence, yelled, "Don't even think about it. And look at me when I'm talking to you, you idiot. Do you see what the fuck I'm wearing?"

The idiot couldn't help himself. He _had_ to stop and he _had_ to look, so, with one hand on the top of the fence, one leg poised and ready to jump, he looked.

"A chicken suit, got that? I'm wearing a fucking chicken suit but did that stop me from chasing you for six fucking blocks? **No**! And I _caught_ you, you asshole. While wearing a," he paused, then stretched out the words, "Chicken…suit!"

The thief's mouth dropped open.

Seeing that he had the man's attention, Blair said a bit more reasonably, "Now listen and listen good. I am _not_ going over that fence in this fucking ball of feathers, is that understood?"

The man glanced up at the top of the fence, which represented freedom, and then back at the red-faced chicken waving a gun. He wavered.

Seeing the indecision, Blair's eyes narrowed and, in a voice dripping with threat, said, "I chased you six blocks, remember? And caught you, right?" The guy nodded almost as if hypnotized. "Right, so if you try to go over that fence, I'm going to shoot you in a place that won't allow you to sit down until Independence Day - if you're lucky - and if my aim is good. But hey, I've been running, I'm hot, I'm mad and who knows where the bullet will actually end up. The only thing I can promise you is that it _will_ end up in your body. Do we understand each other?"

Expression full of dread, the man nodded again, but then, as if he couldn't help himself, he glanced back up at the top of the fence - which set Blair off again.

"I - am - not - going - over - that - fence - in - this - suit. Now climb down this instant, plant yourself on the ground, put your hands behind your head and kiss asphalt!"

The thief knew he was beat, chicken suit or not. He dropped down, hit the ground face down, put his hands behind his head and actually kissed the asphalt. You could never be too careful when dealing with a cop in a chicken suit, he figured.

As he lay there, he watched as two orange, rubber feet slapped their way over to him. A moment later, he was neatly cuffed. As his rights were read, he was hauled up and marched back out onto the street by the yellow Easter Baby Chick.

He was never going to live this down…and if they found out in prison, he'd be dog meat.

***

Jim had just reached Madison when Blair came out of the alley pushing the cuffed suspect in front of him. Jim, who'd naturally heard Blair's entire diatribe, now let his grin out full force. Who'd have thought the kid he'd met in a storage room at Rainier University would end up like this. He watched Blair walk toward him. Watched as he huffed some loose curls out of his eyes while the yellow hood flapped behind him. The orange beak was perched on top of his flyaway hair and his face was flushed red from the exertion. His anger at having to chase a thief while wearing a chicken suit was evident by the way his plastic feet kept hitting the ground, each step punctuating his ire. The ball of yellow fur seemed to be wrapped around him, the wings wiggling in counterpoint to his mumblings.

Jim was pretty sure he'd never seen anything cuter or sexier. He had the sudden urge to throw the guy up against the nearest wall and have his wicked chicken way with him.

Simon came pounding up behind him and froze as he caught his first glimpse of his newest detective.

"Dear God," he managed to huff out.

"Simon, if I were you...." Jim let his voice trail off in warning.

"Right." Even Simon could now hear Blair mumbling under his breath….

"...running all over this fucking town, dressed like a chicken, and you decide to try to go over a fence? I so don't think so." Then, "God, what the hell is this? Shit, it's melted chocolate. Those kids got melted chocolate all over my gun...now how the hell did that happen?"

And then he spotted them.

"Fuck, I'll never live this down, never in a million years."

That set off the thief, who tried to twist around to face Blair as he yelled, "You? _You_ won't ever live this down? What do you think they'll do to me in prison when this gets out? I was caught by a fucking Easter chick with long curly hair and two earrings!"

Blair nearly tripped over the rubber feet at the yelled words. He whirled the man around, his eyes blazing. "I ain't no chick, dickwad!"

Simon, feeling that perhaps the thief had run out of luck and was about to see the end of his days, rushed up and took him off Blair's hands. Thankfully, Detective Withers had joined them so he was able to hand him over.

As Withers started to take the guy away, Jim grabbed his cuffed arm and said, "Trust me asshole, he's right. He ain't no chick."

Simon, grinning, added, "Damn right. Everyone knows he's special. He's the Easter Baby Chick and don't you forget it."

Blair, barely suppressing his fury, was ready to kill both men. Simon caught the signs and decided to escape with Withers. As the three of them passed through the gates and back onto the Mayor's estate, Connor, Rafe and Michael Binks joined them, all eager to make sure Blair was all right.

Simon held up a hand to stop the barrage of questions and said, "He's fine, guys. But Jim's about to wish he were back in Peru and unless you all have a death wish I don't know about, I heartily suggest we all make ourselves scarce."

No one moved so Simon turned around to see what could capture their attention to the degree that they'd risk death at the hands of an angry baby chick.

Blair and Jim had followed at a slower pace and were now in the middle of Roosevelt - but they were no longer walking. Instead, an almost all yellow Blair stood in front of Jim, chest heaving, face still flushed. His hair, now completely loose from the tie he'd used earlier, was flying all over the place as he waved his arms in the air. His words floated back to everyone at the gate….

"…not enough I have to run around in this suit, but I also have to deal with you and your stupid ass rules." He shoved his way past Jim. "Rules, rules and more rules. Don't flush after ten, no feet on the table, no sex in the loft…."

Megan's eyes widened at that and Rafe actually snorted.

"...unless it's you and one of your leggy criminals. And to add insult to injury, there's your stupid no twain meeting shit. I mean, really, what am I, chopped liver? I'm not appealing? You can ignore me for three years? And what would happen if the Goddamn twain did meet, uh? The end of the world as we know it? I don't think so, buddy. No, I think if the twains met, you'd have the best night of your fucking life, that's what I  
think--"

"Chief?"

Jim said it so quietly, it stopped Blair cold - for ten seconds.

"What, you asshole."

"You look downright edible in yellow."

Blair frowned, then tilted his head to the right - then the left. He opened his mouth - then shut it - opened it again - and shut it again.

Jim, realizing that maybe Blair needed another hint, raised his hand in the air, made a motion as if pulling a chain and said, "Toot-Toot, twain stopping here, all aboard for the Ellison-Sandburg station."

Blair narrowed his eyes. "I'm wearing a chicken suit, Ellison. A goddamned chicken suit."

Jim agreed happily. "Yes, yes you are. And you look cute. Very cute."

" _Cute_?"

"Cute. Sexy as hell too." He crooked a finger at Blair. "Come here."

Blair's look was unreadable, even to Jim, but he took the few necessary steps to put him directly in front of Jim.

"That's better." Jim grinned. "Care to shovel some coal into my engine or maybe let me give your caboose a push? Check out the observation car?"

"Oh, brother." Blair rolled his eyes.

"By the way," Jim added with something that could pass as a leer. "Did I mention how much I love that little yellow caboose of yours? The way it wiggles when you run?"

"Jim, shut the fuck up." With that, Blair reached up, grabbed Jim by his head, hauled him down within reach - and kissed him soundly.

When they finally came up for air, Jim whispered, "Toot-toot."

***

Back at the gate, Megan groaned. Glancing over at her, Simon asked, "What, you suddenly have a problem with this?"

"You know better than that. I just wish I'd known all it would take was a stupid yellow chicken suit to get them together. I could have saved us a fortune on all that chocolate."

 **Epilogue** :

The bad guys were gone and, after standing in line for another two hours to get the 'heroic' Baby Chick's autograph, the kids and their parents had left as well - but not before the adults had thanked the police, the baby chick, the bunny rabbit - and the Mayor - for the best Easter Egg Hunt ever. The waiters and caterers were gone, leaving behind a spotless mansion, devoid of any evidence of the day's event.

Blair, sitting next to the pool, looked around him, his gaze falling first on one horny (thank God) sentinel, then a horny pink rabbit and Michael Binks, who was sitting next to the rabbit and looking at him with a degree of adoration that was almost embarrassing. Then there was Megan, who was trying not to giggle at the way Michael was looking at Rafe, and finally Simon, who was obviously trying to ignore the way everyone was looking at everyone else.

Blair thought they were one weird bunch and he really wished he had the energy to get up and get out of the chicken suit. Maybe if he gave Jim the right kind of look (he was sure he could, he'd been practicing for three years), Jim would help him out of it. Just then, Michael leaned forward, cleared his throat and said, "I can never thank all of you enough for today. The whole event could have been a total disaster. The Mayor is very pleased, especially since, as a fund raiser both for him and the charity, the day exceeded all expectations - thanks to all of you."

He might have been talking to all of them, but his eyes never left Rafe, whose face now matched the color of his costume.

Simon got to his feet. "No thanks needed, Michael. It's what we do." He stretched then and, as he was bringing his arms back down, his hand brushed the velvety ears still perched on the top of his head. "Shit, I'm still wearing them." He turned his best steely- eyed glare on his detectives and asked, "Is there some reason no one told me?"

Megan, not the least bit unnerved by the look, said easily, "They look so natural, Captain, that we must have forgotten they were there."

"Megan, bless you," Blair said. "You've successfully taken all the heat off of me. After that remark, no one will remember this." He plucked at the yellow feathers.

Simon's eyes glittered dangerously as he pointed at Blair and Jim. "Sandburg, you look ridiculous still wearing that thing. Both of you, go change now. Rafe, you need to change and then go somewhere - anywhere - with Michael. Connor, you don't get to move an inch."

Jim shot up, grabbed Blair's arm and, while backing all the way toward the dressing rooms, said, "Yes, sir, right now, sir, anything you say, sir."

Rafe and Michael stood as well, both smiling brightly at each other. "I know a great little Mexican place over on Sunset. You game, Michael?"

"Do you mean Tortilla Flats?" At Rafe's nod, Michael grinned and the two men started walking toward the back and Rafe's car - completely forgetting that Rafe was still wearing the pink costume. No one bothered to remind them.

Simon turned back to Connor, took a menacing step toward her and said, " Don't forget that I paid for most of that Godiva chocolate. You still owe me."

She held out her hand for a hoist up and once standing beside him, smiled up at him and said cheekily, "Why so you did, sir. Care to take it out in a nice dinner at, say, La Trattoria?"

"Connor, I don't like that twinkle in your eye."

"Give it a while, it'll grow on you."

***

Jim slipped into his jeans, pulled the black Polo shirt over his head and then double-checked himself in the mirror. Damn, now he wished he'd worn a blue shirt. On the other hand, Blair was a sure thing and he doubted the man would care if he were in black, blue or puce, for that matter. In the mirror, he glimpsed the tail and ears he'd been forced to wear all day - and grinned. Still better than a yellow ball of fur. Suddenly a loud thud came from next door.

Frowning, Jim asked loudly, "Chief, you okay in there?"

"No, I'm not. I can't get the zipper down so get your ass in here and lend me a hand."

"Hey," Jim said as he exited his dressing room, "you know I'm always eager to lend a helping hand to a friend."

He pulled open the door to Blair's dressing room - and immediately started laughing. Probably not the best way to start a new relationship but he couldn't help it. Blair just looked so damn…delectable.

He was kind of bouncing up and down, his hand tugging on the zipper, the hood flopping around behind him even as he tried hard to keep from tripping over the big plastic feet.

"Okay, I'm here, so calm down, stop moving and let me help, Chief."

Blair stopped bouncing long enough to give Jim an exasperated look - which was immediately followed by the most helpless expression Jim had ever seen on his partner.

"It's stuck, Jim," he whined, "It's really stuck. I'll be in this thing for _ever_ just when the twains were about to meet, which means I won't be able to do anything and have you ever _seen_ chickens fuck?"

Jim chuckled as he pushed Blair's busy hands away and applied his own zipper expertise to the problem at hand. "No, Chief, I don't think anyone has. And I know rabbits aren't known for fucking chickens, but we're about to change all that, aren't we?"

Blair's head was down, eyes glued to Jim's fingers, which were so far unsuccessful in lowering the zipper. "We would be…if we ever get me out of this thing." He looked up and grimaced. "Oh, man, it really is stuck and I'm hornier than the man who told his wife that yes, the blue dress _did_ make her look fat."

He started bouncing again, as if gravity would force the thing down and Jim, realizing that all their plans for the evening could indeed be ruined, decided that a show of brute force was needed. At Blair's neck, he took both sides of the suit and pulled across - and down.

There was the terrible sound of ripping material, followed by Blair's awed whisper, "Jim, you tore the Mayor's chicken suit."

But Jim wasn't really listening, because when he'd torn it, he'd gotten a handful of the yellow Lycra and ripped it too, which left him staring at a mostly naked Blair.  
Staring at the view in wonder, Jim murmured, "Nope, you're definitely not a chick."

Blair glanced down and realized that he was bare from neck to crotch, the Lycra suit and fur hanging loosely from his hips. He quickly tried to step out of what was left of it, but he was still wearing the big rubber feet - which got caught up in the material, causing him to trip and fall up against Jim, who caught him close.

"Whoops."

Laughing, Jim quickly bent down and pulled the offending flappers off Blair's feet. He straightened and, as Blair looked up at him, words of gratitude on his lips, Jim kissed him. Things got pretty exciting then as Blair felt Jim's hands exploring everywhere he could reach, and he decided to join in as a full participant. He reached for Jim's shirt, his intent to do a bit of ripping of his own when Jim pulled out of the kiss and said breathlessly, "I have to wear these later, idiot."

Right was right so Blair just pushed the material up and went to town. He was just reaching down for Jim's zipper when Jim smashed him against the back wall. Blair was amazed that he still managed to release Jim's dick.

They were flesh to flesh now, where it counted, and all Blair could think was, " _Wow_ …."

He must have said it aloud because Jim nipped at his lower lip before smiling and saying,  
"Yeah, wow."

They promptly went back to kissing, tongues delving deep as Blair's fingers gripped Jim's shoulders and Jim's fingers wound their way around springy curls.

To Blair, it seemed as if Jim were trying to get to his dick through his mouth but since it was the best kiss he'd ever had, he decided to let Jim try. As the kiss deepened, Blair found his right leg kind of jumping, trying to wrap itself around Jim, who, sensing the need, hooked one hand under Blair's knee and gave him a little hike which brought their cocks into immediate and hot alignment.

 _Dear God_ , Blair thought, _the twains were going to crash_.

Jim was feverishly humping now, his mouth all over Blair's body, lips and teeth attacking every inch of skin - and all Blair could do was hold on for dear life and get the occasional lick, nip or bite in himself. His own hips were rocking, but not by much as Jim had him slammed into the wall.

The friction of their cocks rubbing and striking each other was driving Blair crazy, but he needed more and wanted to give more, so he dropped his right hand, wrapped his fingers around Jim's cock and started pumping. Jim caught on and he soon had Blair's cock. What with all the lip and tongue action, the hip and hand action, Blair came hard, Jim's tongue halfway down his throat and it felt fucking incredible and he was trapped and it felt good, and then his brain exploded.

***

They slid down to land in a heap on the floor, Blair on top.

Jim couldn't really move or talk, but he wanted Blair close, so he just tightened his grip around the younger man's waist. Blair dropped his head back onto Jim's shoulder and Jim quickly rested his cheek on the slightly damp curls.

Several minutes passed, neither man moving, eyes closed as both recuperated.

Jim recovered first - well, at least he was the first to rediscover verbal skills as he whispered, "Toot-toot."

Blair just managed some semblance of a grin.

Ten minutes later, verbal skills full restored, Jim said, "You realize this twain isn't going to meet with any other twain, ever again. Right?"

Blair, still unsure about his ability to speak, thanks to exploding brains, tried nonetheless.  
"I'm a…one twain kind…of guy."

"That makes you a one guy kind of guy."

"Yep. And you said the twain shall never meet." Blair snorted.

"But the two did."

"Finally. But shit, it took you long enough."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to beg, Chief."

"Ah, but Jim, you haven't fucked me yet."

"Fuck."

"No, beg. This chick ain't easy."

"You ain't no chick and you are easy."

"Nuh, uh. And we should probably make an effort to get up, get dressed and get out. We did, after all, just have sex at the Mayor's house and we're still here."

"Technically, we had sex in the Mayor's pool-side dressing room. Big difference."

"You going to argue over semantics or are we going home, eat chocolate and watch you beg? And did I mention, I have chocolate flavored lube?"

Jim shot up, jostling Blair to the ground, but not for long. Jim pulled him up as he said, "Come on, what are you waiting for, Hanukkah?"

Jim started to tug at him, trying to pull him outside but with Blair resisting the whole way. "Uhm, Jim? I'm naked here, man. And you're not much better."

Jim looked down. "Shit. Right. Okay, so we get dressed and we hurry."

Blair grabbed his jeans and underwear, slipped them on, then pulled his sweater over his head as he tried to slip into his loafers at the same time. He'd barely taken his jacket from its peg and his gun from the heap of fur on the floor when Jim was tugging at him again.

"Jim, Jim, wait, man, the suit, it's ruined, we can't just leave it here."

"Yes we can. Especially since it'll mean that next year - they won't invite you back."

"Oh, yeah, right. Too bad."

"But I did hear Michael say something about what a cute elf you'd make for the Mayor's Santa Claus pageant."

"Oh, man, you are so going to have to beg now."

They walked out of the dressing room and started for Jim's truck. "By the way, Chief, 'fess up. It was you sending us the chocolates, right?"

"No, Detective of the Year. It was Megan and Simon. Although I'm pretty sure it was all her idea. She was trying to get you to see that we belonged together and now I feel for her. For both of them. They spent all that money when all they needed to do was put me in a yellow chicken suit. Who could know you had a chicken suit fetish?"

Jim pulled on Blair's hand, which brought Blair up against Jim's chest. "Did I ever tell you about my Carmen Miranda fixation?" Jim asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck."

 

The End


End file.
